


November Night

by Kassyndra



Category: Inside Out (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst and Porn, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-07 00:23:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12221973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kassyndra/pseuds/Kassyndra
Summary: Cold night, reeked of lavender and lemon. She was not here. She was here.





	November Night

**Author's Note:**

> Holy hell. It's 6.07 am here and I haven't sleep. This is my first smut so please bear with the weird pacing and choice of words. It's un-beta'd, so there would be mistakes which I must apologize in advance.
> 
> About the character. Aidan is Anger and Danielle is Disgust. They are my go-to name for these two in Human!AU. I actually want to write a series about this pairing but this comes into my mind and refuses to let me be, so... yeah. I hope you like it.
> 
> And yes, I was listening to [Dua Lipa's New Rules](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2qgadSvNyU) and decided to unfittingly implement the chorus in my story.

_One: Don’t pick up the phone_

_You know he's only callin' 'cause he's drunk and alone_

 

***

 

It was the cold November night. The outside was foggy and suffocating. It was perfect for a couple to be holed up in their small living room, snuggling and lazily make out. He would made her a cup of hot cocoa, and let her hog the blanket. They would turn on the television, even though they watched nothing. It was just their excuse to cuddle on the sofa. She would lay her head on his broad chest. She was always the first to fall asleep, and always refused his offer to send her home.

 

“Your room’s warmer,” she would sleepily tell him, “and I love the smell of you.”

 

He would kiss her then, and would hug her close and tight, as if she would slip away, out of his arms.

 

By their third year, she did.

 

\--

 

He laid on the sofa, eyes settled on the television screen. His mind wandered to its usual spot, where it was warm and smelled like lavender and tangerine. He was tired, but could not sleep. It was nine in the evening and he had to work tomorrow. He contemplated calling in sick tomorrow just so he could sulk on his sofa and maybe sleep some more. He kicked the blanket out of his feet. The room was too cold, but he could not bear the blanket. It always smelled like _her_ , and no amount of laundry could erase the faint citrusy and cold sweet scent. Deep down, he knew that he already associated the smells with the blanket, and her.

 

His phone vibrated. He eyed it, and jolted up when he saw the name.

 

“Danielle,” he breathed.

 

“Aidan.” It was her. It was really her.

 

“What’s up?”

 

“Nothing. Can I go to your place?” she _knew_ he would never say no.

 

“I haven't cleaned it yet.” That never worked. She might be a neat freak, but always made an exception for him.

 

Or not. She said that she just never told him, because she knew he would never change. And she was right.

 

“It’s okay,” she laughed, because of course she would, “I’ll be there in minutes.”

 

“Are you drunk?”

 

“Never,” and then she hung up.

 

He stared at his phone for a minute, then tossed it on his sofa. He got up and did a little cleaning, then gave up and went to the kitchen to grab a can of beer. He could not deal with her with his mind clear and capable of comprehension.

 

He was on his sixth can and the edge of his vision started to blur when he heard the three knock. He gulped down the last of his drink, crushed the can and threw it in the trash can. It missed, but it was not like he cared. He made his way to the door and grabbed the knob, hesitated for a second, then twisted it and pulled.

 

She was there, on the doormat. Her eyes immediately met his. She always knew how much to look up, and how much to tilt her head to assert her dominant. She was a haughty queen to his berserker, and they were not supposed to be together.

 

Without warning, she leaned in and hooked her arms around his neck. Their mouths met, hungry and wet.

 

* * *

 

  _Two: Don't let him in_ _  
__You'll have to kick him out again_

 

***

 

She tasted like cheap vodka and gummy bears, and he felt like he could fall in love again. Could.

 

She did not loathe alcohol, but she would scrunched her nose and sat a little farther when she smelled him after his night at a local bar. Maybe it was the cheapness and mediocrity the repulsed her. He caught her drinking sometime, always the expensive and exquisite. This cheap vodka on her tongue was strange and wrong. He would ask her later. Not that she would tell him. She never told him anything. She would just smiled and kissed him on his cheek and walked away.

 

Or maybe because he never asked her in the first place.

 

She pushed him through the door frame and to the sofa. Her movement guided him, never broke the step. She was forceful and in control. He closed his eye and silently vowed his submission.

 

Once they were by the sofa, she broke the kiss and pushed him, hard, onto the cushion.

 

“The door,” she whispered.

 

He was still dazed when she returned, draped against his side, head rested on his shoulder.

 

“What happened,” he murmured, not really wanting an answer.

 

“I just miss you,” she lied.

 

“Like I’d buy into that.”

 

“You always do,” and she closed his mouth with hers, again.

 

He sighed, reminiscing of the past November nights. He smelled the hot cocoa and he heard the sound of nonsense from the television. Only the latter was real, currently, but it would suffice.

 

“Please,” he spoke into the nook of her neck, “just tell me.”

 

She said nothing. Her lips travelled from the corner of his mouth to his clavicles. He groaned in pleasure and frustration.

 

‘ _Please tell me everything. I promise I would listen. I promise I would ask. I promise I’d make it right this time. It’s painful without you. The room is too cold and empty. The blanket still smell like you. Please stay. Please stay. Please stay_ ’

 

And he said nothing, letting her explore his skin as she pleased.

 

“You smell awful,” she said, looking up at him. Her eyes had thousands of feeling swimming inside. It was glossy, like she was sad, or regretted what she was doing. But they were also piercing, ferocious, hungry, and disgusted.

 

“I know,” he whispered.

 

She traced his jawline, face somewhat fixed between smirking and scowling.

 

Her finger moved to to his lips, “You’re loud. Too loud.” Then her hand was on the area between his neck and his shoulder, fingers lightly tapping in a familiar rhythm he could immediately recall.

He tried to opened his mouth, but found himself too weak to do so. Maybe he was afraid to object her,  fearing that everything happening would be gone. A remaining scrap of sensibility in his brain told that this was not right, but he felt like he wanted this to last, at least until tomorrow morning. He needed this. He needed her. She did not need him. Yes, she would be gone tomorrow morning.

 

“Why--,” his question was cut off as he moaned. Her lips travelled up his neck to his jaw. Her hand travelled just above his nipple, close enough to stir his feeling, but not enough to bring him there. She shifted her body to be on top of him. He looked up to her face. It was the most beautiful face, and the most painful to watch.

 

“Because I miss you.” She lied again, with an almost exact word. Her eyes would temporarily darkened when she did it. Did she hate herself of doing this? What was her feeling? He wanted to hold her close and tight and tell her that everything is going to be okay, that she should not stoop this low, that he would always be there for her.

 

The only sound he could make however was just a string of stuttered breath. She had traveled to his nipple, lips caressing it through his shirt.

 

He grunted when she bit into him, fiercely, aggressive, resentful.

 

\--

 

He found himself in his bedroom, stripped of his shirt. She was kneeling on top of him, tracing her tongue up and down his torso. He acknowledged the instinctual pleasure, but his mind was blank. The only thing remained was the faint whisper, telling him to submit, to let her vent out, to accept her frustration in a way that he never did right in those three years they were together.

 

* * *

 

 _Three: Don't be his friend_ _  
_ _You know you're gonna wake up in his bed in the morning_

 

***

 

The bedroom was slightly warmer than it used to be.

 

His belt was unbuckled and discarded on the floor, along with his trousers and her clothes. Her scarf was tossed somewhere by the door. She unhooked her bra hy herself.

 

“You never did it right,” she said, almost made him laugh.

 

She was skillful on the bed, and it could not be denied that sex was the major part of their relationship. Was there love in there somewhere? Yes, probably. Did he love her? He thought he did, but maybe it was not enough. Did she love him? She once said she did, but he was too afraid to find out if that was true.

 

Her tongue was circling at his navel, and then it went down to made a quick job of arousing his erection. His groaned, grunted, and wanted to demand more when the wetness slipped away from his cock. But tonight he would devote all that he possesses to her.

 

Was he trying to apologize? He was not sure.

 

She loomed over him, hair shrouded her face in a shadow. She kissed him ferociously and dragged his lower lip with her teeth. She was hot against the cold air of the night, and the contrast made his feelings went wild. He felt her teeth marking his neck, his shoulder, his torso. Maybe she, too, was afraid to let him go. Maybe she wanted this to last. Maybe they would be together again.

 

Lies are always a strong foundation of comfort, and everyone has their little corner to tug themself in and ignore the harshness that is the reality.

 

His cock was inside her. She was bouncing on top of him, slurring something he could not pick apart. He was breathing heavily. His hands were on her hip, but they were useless as she was controlling her movement and her pace. He was completely under her mercy, and he solemnly accepted that he deserved none.

 

She slowed down as her arms scooped him up in a sitting position. Their lips were locked together. Her body smelled of lavender and lemon. Her skin was soft and flushed, visibly hot red even under the trace of moonlight. Her breasts were pushed against his chest as she wrapped him tightly. His arms wrapped around her in response, and then a single tear ran down his cheek in appreciation of the familiar warmth.

 

“Are you--” she said between panting, “are you crying.”

 

He managed a stuttered “Yes”, and hid his face in her neck, tears started to stream down.

 

The pace slowed down, and her hand was caressing his back in a comforting manner.

 

And, for a moment, it was like a November night in their three years again.

 

\--

 

She peeled his condom out and throw it in a trashcan. He did not feel it being put on, but, with her, he tended not to feel things.

 

“Your sheet smells like vanilla,” she said as she sat down on the edge of the bed, “whether it’s a guy or girl, they are below my standard. Are you guys seeing each other?”

 

He turned to her, “Will you stay?” His voice was weak.

 

She did not answer, but she did laid down and turned to face him.

 

“You cried,” she whispered, and leaned in to kiss him on his lips. It was short but sweet, the first gentle kiss of the night.

 

He saw his reflection in her eyes, and leaned in to kiss her in return. She did not smile, but her shoulders were relaxed.

 

They closed their eyes.

 

\--

 

She was nowhere in the morning. His bedroom was tidied somewhat. He went into the living room and saw that it was cleaned up as well. She had tendency to clean up the room when she was bored, and he took that for granted.

 

He took a long shower. Last night seemed like a blur of a dream (or was it a perfect nightmare?). There were no traces of her except the orderly arranged pile of clothes, a faint but fresh smell of lavender and lemon, and a french toast in the kitchen. He checked his phone and saw contacts of all of his casual partners deleted. Hers was also deleted, but he doubted that she would change it.

 

He sat by the kitchen table. The french toast was lukewarm but still good. He stopped after a few bites, because he was laughing and crying and he could no longer eat.

 

He looked at his front door, inhaled the smell of lavender and lemon, and pretended to saw her there. He blinked once and she was gone. He sat there for minutes, then got up to get ready for work.

 

\--

 

On his porch, he heard her calling his name. He looked around and could not find her.

 

He closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

  _And if you're under him, you ain't gettin' over him_

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> I always envisioned Disgust/Anger as a passionate but unstable relationship. Is it weird that I enjoy seeing them break up?
> 
> I have a [tumblr](https://kassandravespertine.tumblr.com/), which mostly consist of random things I found interesting and my painting. I jump around fandoms a lot though.
> 
> Oh, and also a [Facebook page](https://www.facebook.com/UmGrui/), which is the most active. And also a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LadyArectaris).
> 
> Sorry, I'm just lonely.


End file.
